


Senses

by Crowley (Tay_Cipher7)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comfort, Gen, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, In a way, Light Angst, M/M, Ron and Hermione Critical, no beta we die like men, sensitive Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28992579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tay_Cipher7/pseuds/Crowley
Summary: The giant scruffy man, Hagrid, was so loud. He was kind and funny, too, but so utterly intense that every time he spoke, Hadrian’s shoulders flinched up to his ears and his hands held white-knuckled to his new robes. The owl the Hagrid got him was white and, while she was beautiful, the way the sun reflected off her feather and into his eyes was like looking at the sun through a mirror or holding another flashlight to his eyes. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But he didn’t say anything. He just squinted and looked away, tried not to cover his eyes and cry.
Relationships: Harry Potter & The Dursleys, Harry Potter/Fred Weasley/George Weasley, Rubeus Hagrid & Harry Potter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 203





	Senses

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I wrote and shared in my discord once as an idea or prompt. 
> 
> But I have polished it up and decided to post it. If this inspires you, feel free to consider it a concept or prompt.

Hadrian was light-sensitive, but not in the muggle sense. 

After so long in his cupboard—the damp space under the stairs, void of any light, blocked off from the world—his eyes had naturally adjusted to the darkness. 

He didn’t need his glasses in the dark, he found; he can see perfectly, maybe even better than perfect, but he doesn’t have much experience with it so he’s not sure. He does notice that his eyes always hurt and go blurry the brighter a space gets. Every time he remembers that time Dudley and his friends shoved him down and held a flashlight to his eyes shot a sharp headache through the base of his skull and over his brow, bringing tears to his sensitive eyes. 

So he wears glasses to help him see outside the cupboard; they don’t do much, but it’s better than not being able to tell the sugar from the salt when he’s cooking. He knows better than to do that, now. And just to be sure, he makes sure to taste everything before using it.

* * *

Hadrian also liked to draw. He didn’t have any materials to do so outside of school, so when he’s in his cupboard, he carves his drawings into the wood that surrounds him. It tears up his nails and the skin under them, and sometimes the blisters and splinters are painful, but he loves the shapes he makes; the symbols that almost glow in the pitch-black abyss of his cupboard. 

They’re pretty, he thinks. 

He doesn’t know where he’s seen them, or what they mean, but he likes them. He wouldn’t dare tell the Dursley’s about it though. He sucks on his cut-up fingers until the skin knits back together; until they don’t sting with every flex or bleed on his clothes.

* * *

After Hadrian got his first letter. He was quick to make sure the Dursley’s never knew it existed, so he slipped it through the crack of his partially-open cupboard door before heading into the kitchen and dropping off the mail to his uncle. 

Hadrian held his breath the rest of the miserable evening, teetering on the edge of fear and excitement. His thoughts rolled around in his head incessantly, ‘ _Who would send me post? Who would send a letter to a freak? What if it was a mistake?’_ The thought made his blood run cold and a sharp pinprick wracked up his spine. If it was a mistake, then he would have to give it back to the Dursley’s, he would have to admit what he did. Hadrian’s hands held a slight tremor as terror laced through his veins until his uncle left him to nurse his injuries in the comforting darkness of his cupboard.  
  


* * *

Hadrian was also sensitive to noise. As such, he really didn’t like loud things. Crowds make him uncomfortable, usually to the point that he wanted to curl up in his cupboard and never come out. They were always noisy, always loud right in his ear to the point that sometimes he wondered how his ears managed to not bleed at the pressure. They were too sensitive and it _hurt_.

His family made his ears ache horribly, too. When faced with his Uncle’s howling and his Aunt’s high-pitched screeching, Hadrian did all he could to keep from covering his ears, to try and muffle the loud, overbearing noise—because that’s all it was. Noise. Hadrian was quick to realise that most people didn’t talk for a reason, but rather to simply fill the silence. But Hadrian _l_ _iked_ the silence. He thrived in it. It was like a heavy blanket against his grated nerves.  
  


* * *

The giant scruffy man, Hagrid, was _so_ loud. He was kind and funny, too, but so utterly intense that every time he spoke, Hadrian’s shoulders flinched up to his ears and his hands held white-knuckled to his new robes. The owl the Hagrid got him was white and, while she was beautiful, the way the sun reflected off her feather and into his eyes was like looking at the sun through a mirror or holding another flashlight to his eyes. It hurt. It hurt so bad. But he didn’t say anything. He just squinted and looked away, tried not to cover his eyes and cry.

When Hadrian got to the platform listen on the letter he, graciously, did not have to return to the Dursley’s, it wasn’t particularly loud, but it was stuffy and crowded. People touched him, brushed against him constantly when moving by and it made his skin crawl dreadfully. He didn’t like it. At all. He couldn’t trust the touches. He didn’t want them.

It was almost worse when Hadrian finally got settled into a compartment for the first time. Because, almost immediately, the loud, and sometimes excited jabbering of the other students on the train, and the slam of the sliding doors as people moved to and fro compartments, made Hadrians just want to curl into himself and sob violently. He missed the all-encompassing darkness and beautiful silence his cupboard gave him. The cupboard the had proven to be the only good thing he had ever known since he had been with his Aunt and Uncle.

He shuddered desperately.

But then, as if his distress had been heard by the gods themselves, there were two older redheads that sat on either side of him. He hadn’t realised that he had pulled his knees up to his chest with his head tucked between them until he felt the seat dip next to him. The room had darkened significantly and the younger redhead that was in front of him earlier, arguing noisily with the bushy brunette who over-pronounced her words constantly, had left. 

The whole compartment was dark and _quiet_ , and Hadrian felt himself go lax; completely boneless, as he breathed out a sigh of bone-melting relief. The two next to him weren’t touching him, but they were close enough that he felt their warmth and, if he needed to, to lean on them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, folks. As always, I hope you enjoyed this little one-shot. I'll be here all week~
> 
> Comments and Kudos keep me going!


End file.
